


Clint Barton In Review

by fennecfawkes



Series: Handsy Octopus 'Verse [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Awesome Phil Coulson, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Diet Soda Is Not Masculine, Fluff, Handsy Octopus, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fennecfawkes/pseuds/fennecfawkes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Phil Coulson knows more about Clint Barton than one might expect. As per usual, these aren't my characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clint Barton In Review

“I don’t know why you insist on hiding in my ceiling tiles, Barton.” Phil doesn’t bother looking up.  
  
“Technically, sir, I’m hiding in the ventilation system, not the tiles themselves,” Clint says, and Phil lets himself glance at Clint, just to see the Barton signature smirk. “And I’m not sure if it counts as hiding if you know I’m there. Also, do you really not know why it’s my favorite spot in the vents?”  
  
“There is a lot I know about you, Barton,” Phil says smoothly. “But no, I can safely say I do not know that.”  
  
“One of the central heating units is directly above your office. And I prefer being warm to being not warm.” Clint pauses. “Also, you don’t know a lot about me.”  
  
“Clint—”  
  
“You can’t call me that!” Clint sounds scandalized.  
  
“Clint, I recruited you,” Phil says, feigning weariness. “It was years ago.”  
  
“Only two. And if you can call me ‘Clint,’ then I can call you ‘Phil.’”  
  
“No, you can’t. You’re my subordinate,” Phil explains. “Anyway, I found you. I sought you out. I recruited you, and I know a lot about you.”  
  
“Like what?” Clint quirks an eyebrow, a move Phil has attempted in the mirror many times with limited success.  
  
“Oh, I don’t know, what do you want to know about yourself?” Phil asks, closing the folder on his desk. “Number of broken bones? Favorite soda? Default order at a dive bar?”  
  
“I’m not sure I even know the answer to the first one.”  
  
“17,” says Phil. “Five of those happened at the same time.”  
  
Clint smiles fondly. “Oslo, right? Never thought Scandinavia would be anything but quiet. And the soda?”  
  
“Diet Dr. Pepper, but you won’t have it in front of anyone but Natasha or me for fear of embarrassment of preferring it to something more manly.”  
  
“And the drink order?”  
  
“G&T. And you never, ever say ‘gin and tonic,’ I’m assuming because you believe it makes you sound cool.”  
  
Clint cocks his head to the side. “You’ve broken your collarbone and your left ankle, plus two of your ribs, but considering the nature of the job, that’s fairly minor damage. You like Diet Coke, which could be even more embarrassing than Diet Dr. Pepper, but you’re apparently quite secure in your masculinity and you drink it constantly. You like gin and tonics, too, but you usually get a whiskey sour because, in your words, it’s a hard drink to fuck up.”  
  
“And yet, your Murphy’s does it every time.”  
  
“Murphy’s is a quality bar,” Clint says, sounding defensive. “Alright, so you know what I like to drink and how easily I break. What else?”  
  
“You like Tom Clancy novels and you keep a flashlight next to you whenever you stay somewhere overnight so you can read them under the covers.”  
  
“No shame in enjoying soldier stories,” says Clint. “At least I don’t enjoy, what is it that you’re reading for the eightieth time? _The Brothers Karamazov_?”  
  
“Yes, Clint, there’s great shame in appreciating Russian literature,” Phil says dryly. “Your favorite album is Fleetwood Mac’s _Rumours_.”  
  
“I heard it a lot at the circus,” Clint says, nodding. “And how come I can’t call you by your first name?”  
  
“I already told you, you’re my subordinate.”  
  
“But imagine how nice it would sound. It sounds nice when you say mine like that.”  
  
Phil refrains from blushing. “There are rules, Barton.”  
  
“Oh, no more ‘Clint’? What else do you know about me?” Clint perches on the corner of Phil’s desk, turned slightly to face him.  
  
“Well, we’re running low on mundane information,” says Phil. “So, OK, how about this? You cuddle in your sleep.”  
  
“I do not! I do no such thing.”  
  
“You cuddle incessantly in your sleep. It’s impossible to resist you. You’re like a handsy octopus.” Phil pauses. “Missing half its limbs, granted, but handsy nonetheless.”  
  
“No one’s ever told me that before,” Clint says, sounding dumbfounded. “When’d you find that out?”  
  
“Moscow. In your defense, it was pretty damn cold.”  
  
“Did I violate you in any way?”  
  
Phil snickers. “Does spooning count as violating?”  
  
“Oh, God.” Phil’s never seen Clint so embarrassed. It’s endearing, really. “And that was one of the first missions we ever went on together. Have I done it again?”  
  
“Only in Budapest. And Anchorage. And Montreal, come to think of it. Oh, and Havana. It wasn’t even cold there.”  
  
Clint covers his face with his hands. “I am so sorry, sir.”  
  
“Don’t be. You have a very warm core.” Has he ever seen Clint blush? Probably not. This conversation is in no way helping out with that pathetic pining thing he tends to do when it comes to Clint.  
  
“Well, as long as I have a warm core, I suppose it’s OK. I can sleep on the floor next time, if you want.”  
  
“I’d rather you not. I like having you close by.” Clint’s “Oh, God” echoes in his head, and he tries to break eye contact, but Clint’s holding it.  
  
“You do, huh?”  
  
Phil can’t do anything but nod in response.  
  
“How close?” Clint leans down toward him, close enough that Phil can see flecks of green and blue in those ridiculous eyes he’s tried hard to convince himself aren’t beautiful.  
  
“Certainly within my line of sight,” says Phil softly. “Preferably closer than that.”  
  
Clint flips over so his chest is parallel to the desk and inches closer. Now Phil can feel Clint’s breath on his lips, breath that smells of mint, as though Clint’s brushed his teeth recently. And maybe he has. Maybe he’s keeping a makeshift bathroom above Phil’s office.  
  
“Too close?” Clint’s barely even whispering now.  
  
“No, that’s about right,” says Phil, and he leans in, because what the hell does he have to lose at this point? He tells himself that Fury won’t fire him for this—knowing what Hill and Sitwell get up to—as he kisses Clint, kisses him like he’s wanted to for just over two years, before Clint had broken nine of those 17 bones and Phil didn’t know his drink order or favorite album or really any of the Clint trivia he now kept locked away in his memory. And Clint’s kissing back, hands on Phil’s shoulders, his grip strong as his tongue gently forces its way into Phil’s mouth and Phil wonders how long he can possibly prolong this. Because it’s urgent and rough and amazing and real, and he wonders why he didn’t just do something sooner, but maybe this time’s right. It certainly looks that way when Clint pulls away slightly to smile at him and then press a kiss to his cheek, then the other cheek, then rub their noses together. It’s adorable. It’s intimate. It’s what he’s wanted Clint to be for 13 months, three weeks, and six days.  
  
“So, can I call you ‘Phil’ yet?” Clint asks with a grin.  
  
“It seems only fair,” says Phil.  
  
“Alright, Phil.” Clint licks his lips. Phil resists doing the same. “Are you busy tonight?”  
  
“I could arrange to get the afternoon off instead, if that’s convenient for you,” Phil says, deciding Fury must owe him for something.  
  
“This afternoon’s fine. Your place or mine?”  
  
“Fairly forward of you, Agent.”  
  
“Do you mind?”  
  
“Not even a little,” says Phil, smiling. Clint leans in for another kiss; it’s messier, more rushed, and probably a touch too passionate for an office with an unlocked door. “If you didn’t drive today—”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Then let’s go to my place.”  
  
“Lead the way.”

They’re tangled together a few hours later. Despite having seen him in the field more than a few times, Phil’s impressed with Clint’s stamina; he’s like a horny teenager in a 30-something’s body. Not that Phil minds. He doesn’t care to think about how Clint got so good at foreplay and talking dirty and mind-blowing sex, but he won’t complain, as long as it’s just for him now.  
  
“Hey.” He tugs at Clint’s wrist. Clint turns over to face him and kisses him. He’s been doing that a lot, but it’ll never be too much, that, Phil is sure of.  
  
“Hey,” Clint says softly. “You’re thinking too much. I can hear it.”  
  
Phil chuckles. “Just ... you know I don’t like sharing, right?”  
  
“I got that idea when Sitwell tried to borrow me for a mission last year.”  
  
“I’m possessive with my assets,” says Phil, reaching an arm around Clint to trace his initials onto Clint’s back. “I’m more possessive with my boyfriends, though.”  
  
“Boyfriends, plural? Who do I have to be jealous of?”  
  
“Honestly, Clint? It’s been years,” Phil says. “And the last one, he didn’t understand the exclusivity policy.”  
  
Clint pulls Phil’s hands to his chest and runs his thumbs along Phil’s knuckles. “I understand it. And it’s been a while for me, too. I mean, Natasha would tell you I’ve been spoken for since the day I got back from Moscow and wouldn’t stop talking about how great a handler we shared.”  
  
“I’m flattered,” says Phil, and he means it. “So, this is happening, huh?”  
  
“Seems like it already did,” Clint says. “As soon as you laid me down in the tall grass and let me do my stuff.”  
  
“My bed is not made of tall grass.”  
  
“But ... _Rumours_.”  
  
“Whatever, Barton. Want to get some greasy Chinese takeout and watch a Tom Clancy movie and have some more sex?”  
  
“I can’t think of a better idea than you just did, Phil.” Clint pauses. “Before, though, I should tell you, I was lying earlier about why I hide above your office.”  
  
“Oh? Enlighten me. Again. With the truth this time.”  
  
“I like hearing your voice.”  
  
“You, Agent Barton, are an unrepentant sap.”  
  
“You know you wouldn’t have it any other way, sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> Check out Clint the Handsy Octopus this fall on Disney Junior!


End file.
